Salem
by orkestar
Summary: During the Salem witch trials of 1692 - 1693, an unlikely pair meet the day they are meant to be hanged. Both are guilty, but of what, exactly? Their race? When intellect clashes, Salem and their demon hunt get more than they bargained for. NoahXMedusa
1. Death Warrant

July 18, 1692

The chains rattled against her wrists, too loose for comfort, but too tight for escape.

The dank prison was filled with weeping souls, mostly women, but some men.

The woman's damp blonde hair stuck to her cheeks and neck, humidity making the freezing prison almost seem hot. Sticky. Medusa's heart felt heavy, and the sweat dripping down her added to the the troube breathing.

Her very own sister, to be put to death.  
It should have been her.

Something about the thought brought a smile to her face.

* * *  
At that very moment, a young, young man stood before the court, convicted of witchcraft. "Our f-father, who art in heaven.."

He studdered. During the trials, witches were presumed unable to say the entirety of the Lords Prayer. His purple eyes concentrated on the floor of the courthouse, his hands tied behind his back, he was bloody and bruised. He knew he might be convicted and put to death. Thats what made this so important.

"Hallowed by thy name. Thy kingdome cuh-come, thy will be d-done...on earth as it is in heaven.."

He coughed slightly, as the room teetered on the edge of their seats to see if he would be hanged. "Give us this our daily br-bread...and..f..forgive us our trespasses..as we fuh-forgive those who trespass against us..."

Good job, Noah told himself. You..you're so close..please.. you can do this..

"And luh-lead us not i-into temptati..tion..."

Blood welled up in his mouth, his nerves burning. on fire. Noah, please. You can do this.  
He coughed again, blood smearing down his mouth this time.  
"-but deliver us fruh...from..e-v.."  
His pupils glazed as a wave of nausia hit him with enough sheer impact that sent him reeling backwards, only to land on the floor. Vomit. And pass out.

When he'd wake next, he would be a convicted witch.

His death warrant signed, he was dragged off to prison until his time on Gallows Hill.

The room howled with excitement, all screaming- WITCH WITCH WITCH. It reverberated in his skull as he faded further out of conciousness.


	2. Lack of Will

"Nah, just leave him. He'll wake up eventually. His kind don't deserve any salve."

He heard the voices dimly in the back of his skull as he felt his cheek hit a cool, damp surface.  
The nausia was less prominent now, and he could breath more easily.

The moment the quieting voices became silent, he heard a womans voice, but only her voice. He couldn't make sense of the words, the world, the fact that such a silly myth had ended the mage up in jail.  
"Sir, hello..are you awake?"

He heard it again, as hands rested on his shoulders.  
Her hands weren't very large, but her nails were long, and painted black. Presuming to see another witch, with a haggled appearance, he rolled over and peeled his eyes open.  
Absolutely wrong. When he opened his eyes he didn't see a single mole, nor wrinkle. Just even, lily white skin, and glimmering amber eyes. "Oh, good, you're alive."  
She smiled a little more grimly, giving him a light, or not so light, slap on the cheek. "I was worried. My last cellmate died the other day." He blinked twice, then hefted himself up to a seat, wondering how such a pretty lady could be so crude and irreverant.

"Wh...wuh..?"  
He said, incoherently, wondering if her prettiness was a spell. Not necessarily, he decided on, since he was pretty damn handsome himself, and it was just from good geniology. What was he thinking..? He didn't even know this woman was a witch.

"Oh no, you're not normal, are you? You're one of those...those..'special' people, aren't you?" She said, frowning darkly and reclining slightly against the wall.  
He rubbed his forehead, trying to soothe the throbbing.

"No, god, I'm not." He said, half mumble.  
"Oh, good."  
He rolled his eyes as she pulled her damp hair behind her fragile little ears. "What's your name then, sir?" She said, a hint of mockery in her tone towards the mysogonistic 'Sir' she interjected.

"Noah." He said, melacholicly, eyes scamming across the cramped, ugly little cell that he shared with some obnoxious lady that he found himself disinclined towards.  
"Ah." Her eyes looked to her nails as she clacked them on the prison floor rythmically.  
After she failed to introduce herself, he decided that he'd play this game a tad longer and oblige.  
"What's your name..?" His voice was soft, but her hearing was keen, and she prefered people who didn't blabber around as though they thought the world gave a shit what they thought. "Medusa. Medusa Gorgon. But around here, my name is Medusa Nurse." She said, smiling and forcing a look of innocence.

"Ah."  
He said, playing off her previous lack of acknowledgement. Frowning slightly, she returned to picking at her cuticles.

"So what're you in for?" She said, avoiding eye contact.  
"Convicted witch. Or mage. Or wizard, whatever your preferance."

"Ooh, me too!" Looking at him, her smile spread darkly.  
She leaned closer, lowering her voice to a whisper.  
"Guilty..?"

He paused, lilac eyes betraying nothing.  
"Absolutely."

"I think I like you, Mister Noah."  
Smirking, her voice leveled in tone.

By the end of the day, he liked her aswell. She was just as intellectual as he was, and evidently, just as guilty. The stories she told him about her and her two sisters conducting elaborate spells in their fathers home, the way she gestured dramatically, the way her smile twisted and darkened as she rambled, it was oddly endearing.  
Silently listening, she found herself inclined to the mage aswell. He heard her stories, didn't interrupt, but added comforting comments that encouraged her ramble, the way he'd nod without a word; and something about his dull purple eyes screamed out to her that neither one of them had any intention of being hanged on Gallows Hill.

Though guilty, and though convicted, something in them had no intention of going down silently. Something in them was the same, though it may have just been in their race.

"...Noah..."

"Yes?"

"I'm not willing to die."

"...I know." 


	3. The Witches Submissor

After a night of listening to the dear witch-lady s cackling, Noah was certain she wouldn t pass away.

She was strong, no doubt, but even if she wasn t, she was much too entertaining company for him to pass up. She didn t really seem to care about how loudly she laughed in the dark hours of the night, ignoring all of the yells across the hallway, all of the aggravated groans.

A witty, calm retort was all she would give her aggravated roommates, and then rolls her eyes to her mage companion.

The eclectic male would just smile and shake his head, allowing her to go on and on about whatever struck her fancy: Particularly her plans of escaping hanging in the morrow hours.

By the morning light, they had very few plausible plans of action, but had instead formed a bond of sorts.

We re a little bit fucked, you know that, right? He said in a calm satire of a tone.  
Yes. Her voice was cheery and avoidant. Yes, I m well aware.

Rolling his eyes, he shoved his arm in between the bars, clasping a piece of black tar-like rock in-between his fingers.  
You re useless.

She smiled.  
Only if you re thinking of a single effort summoning spell, instead of a dual. Her tone sang, and her eyes danced along the cage.

A muscle jerked in the man s jaw, and he began drawing the symmetrical circle around his own feet, adorning it with a large, open eye at the center, lines stringing it in place, though it were only two dimensional. It seemed to move and dance across the floor, the blackened chalk lines rippling as he scratched at the defining lines of his spell.

Speak of the devil; your help would be nice. I d hate to use up too much stamina.

Oh, I d be more than happy.

After a moment of discerning conversation, they seated themselves opposite one another, inside the outer rim of the decorated demonic circle, interlacing fingers with one another. His hands were rough and large, hers more slight, but adorned with long black finger nails, nesting against his flesh.

The lines bled as they spoke the spell, lights flickering and dancing between the bars.  
Her pupils became slits, while his retina s spiked with red flecks, and before long, the summoning was complete.

The boy s feet hovered, and then rested on the floor, toes turned outward. A-Ah .Sama? 


End file.
